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Novels. Doncha just love them! This one was Vincent-Price-in-Theatre-of-Blood (ha ha - you worm!) crossed with the collected Marxism Today editorials of the 1980s crossed with Carry On Camping. Just, in fact, like Jonathan Coe's What a Carve Up! which came out around the same time, like when Hollywood comes out with two suspiciously similar movies at once (A Bug's Life & Antz, Capote and Infamous).

I didn’t care for it and I can't think it would stand up these days. But there should be more political novels. I was thinking of writing one myself, set at the time of the Cuban Missile crisis, in which a doo wop group infiltrates the CIA and engineers a coup d'etat based on the seductive properties of the standard three chord progression. They commandeer the tv stations and announce : "We have come to harmonise international relations"...no, perhaps not. Politics is a bit crap and shoddy these days. We've seen that all these idiots we vote for (well, not me, it must be YOUR FAULT these goons are there wielding their private parts and their natty suits on behalf of the common good) are just wizards of ooze, you know, TAKE NO NOTICE OF THE SMALL MAN BEHIND THE CURTAIN, we know they can't do anything and they're all like nattily suited private parted corks bobbing around on vast rumbly seas of international finance. They haven't got a clue. This is where all the conspiracy theories come from - the desperate hope that SOMEBODY SOMEWHERE is pulling the strings - that there ARE STRINGS - I mean that's probably absurd right there, I mean WHAT STRINGS? And are they tuned to a natural E ?

You know it really is time for that alien invasion we were promised in 1957. They're late. I want my aliens!